


Almost

by romanticalgirl



Category: Dawson's Creek
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:16:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally posted 4/9/03</p>
    </blockquote>





	Almost

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 4/9/03

There aren't words, he thinks as he walks away from her. There's nothing that can name or explain away this huge void left inside him. It's too huge to be contained, but it seems lodged somewhere just beneath his throat, crowding out his breath.

It seemed so simple when it happened. Simple and horrifying and frightening and electric when it happened. So easy when it all came down. Which should have been the first warning sign. Nothing with them was ever simple. It goes against every rule of the universe for it to be easy. He should have remembered. Wants to kick himself for forgetting.

But it wouldn't hurt enough. Nothing he can do to himself would ever hurt as much as what she said, what she did. He takes a deep breath, wanting to fill his lungs, but finds that they won't expand. There's a band around them, holding them captive. A band the size of her hand as it rested over his heart.

Grabbing his jacket out of reflex, he pushes his way through the crowd, not hearing the music, not feeling the press of bodies. It hurts, he realizes, and he didn't think he could hurt anymore. He thought he was immune to it. He really believed it. He'd been wrong. He should have known that too.

"Hey, man." He stops and looks at some punky kid and the impulse to blow him off is strong. He's like a wounded wolf, searching for some cave to hole up in and lick his wounds, but something in the kid gets to him. He recognizes something. Maybe it's the bravado or the complete desire to be anywhere but where he's standing.

"Yeah?"

He presses something into his hand and he stares at it for a moment before realizing what it is. He shakes his head on instinct and starts to hand it back, stopping before he actually begins.

"You know what? Thanks." He lifts it to his lips and inhales long and hard. He closes his eyes and sees waves and sand and water the color of the sky before he opens them and passes the joint back to the kid. He holds the smoke for a long time before exhaling, letting it curl up to the sky. "Hey," he rasps as the kid nods at him and starts to walk away, "don't do drugs."

"Right."

He leans against the wall for a second then pushes off, letting the smoke curl through his body like an invisible masseur, finding knots of tension and releasing them until his muscles unfurl like a free sail. It snakes down to his chest and the hard pit of nothingness that used to be his heart and skirts around it, looking for a weak spot to penetrate the tangled blackness.

"Nice try," he reminds it quietly as he starts walking, wishing he had another hit. "But only one thing penetrates that, and I'm afraid she'd rather be dancing with another guy." He laughs, too loud and too unnecessarily. "Hope he took lessons."

Other kids are looking at him as he makes his way to his car. It's a beautiful car. Sleek and pristine looking, even though he can see the cracks in the armor that Audrey's one day at the Grand Prix of Capeside managed to leave. "You and me," he pats it affectionately on the hood as he walks around to the driver's side. "We look good, but it's all surface, isn't it? Inside? We're fucked up beyond all recognition."

Inside, he turns over the engine and listens to it purr. "Well, maybe it's just me that's fucked up on the inside. I'm like a fucking candy bar." He laughs again, the sound still too loud and he wants another hit. Smiling a little too wide, he pulls out into traffic, heading toward Hell's Kitchen. He knows that, tonight anyway, there's no one there he doesn't want to see. No one's smug blue-collar face that he wants to punch until it's bloody instead of tan, no one's body he wants to pin against the bar and fuck her until she screams and comes all around him.

He switches on the seat massager and lets one hand fall off the wheel into his lap. He wants to close his eyes and he realizes it's been too long since the summer after senior year, the summer a million years ago where he took his first drag and had a three month lost weekend without her. He shakes his head to clear that picture, happy to focus instead on the thought of fucking her on the bar, not caring about glasses and ashes and peanuts digging into her skin as he presses her down on the polished surface.

Somebody honks and he realizes he's sitting at a green light. Forcing both hands onto the wheel, he makes it to the club and parks, not caring about the raging erection that's straining against the tight denim of his jeans and really not caring about much of anything now except finding a beer or something harder. First things first though, he thinks as he moves around to the side of the building and finds a group of five high-school kids, looking five years younger than they are and acting about ten years older.

He holds out a twenty and gets their attention, taking the bag from them. He forks over another couple of bucks for papers and a lighter, laughing softly this time. They look at him strangely, probably wondering if the pot's supposed to bring him down from something else, but he doesn't give a shit. He rolls the first one and lights it, watching them watch him as he slowly works his way through the first long hit.

They look furtive as he stands there, smoking, enjoying it like it's a fucking orgasm, maybe whimpering softly as the heat and smoke finally seem to blur the edges of his pain. When it's gone, a mere nub between his fingers, he sucks the last bit of life out of it and tosses a quick thanks over his shoulder before heading into the club.

"Hey, Pace."

He turns slowly, swimming through smoke, to look at Jen. She's sitting at a table for two just inside the door and he smiles, moving over to stand beside her. She's perched on the high stool, her legs dangling tantalizingly above the step beneath the table. He's suddenly thinking about sharks and sinking his teeth into the lush curve of her calf. "Hey, Lindley." She's wearing a t-shirt striped with orange, hot pink and white, her short hair spiked slightly with sweat and gel. Skirt is probably a generous word for what she's wearing, given the lack of length. "You look edible."

She cocks one eyebrow and surveys him. "You look stoned."

"There's an amazingly good reason for that." He moves closer and he's breathing in her ear, his hot breath ruffling her damp hair. "I am."

"So am I."

"Stoned?"

She laughs and it's nothing like the harsh sound that's been escaping his lips all night since she touched her fucking chest with her hand, using her words like a scalpel on his heart. "Edible."

He groans and runs his fingers lightly over her exposed thigh. "I thought you were otherwise involved."

Her legs part slightly as he slips his hand lower on her thigh; his fingers cool on her warm, pale skin. "I thought you were too."

"Joey'd rather have her way with words."

"CJ's late."

"And what do you think CJ would do if he showed up here while I was fucking you in a stall in the women's bathroom?"

"Have you seen the women's bathroom?"

He grabs her hand with his free one and guides it down to his cock, rubbing it over the hard flesh shielded by his jeans. His other hand moves higher, his fingertips brushing the damp material of her panties. "I think the establishment would probably frown on me fucking you right here." He releases her hand and grabs the back of her chair, turning it so he can slide between her legs. "But I'm game if you are."

Jen licks her lips, her eyes hazy with lust and alcohol. "You wouldn't dare."

"Think," he breathes against her lips, his tongue following his breath, touching her, "about who you're talking to."

"I'm not really keen on being your rebound girl." She pushes him away and slides off the stool, capturing his hand and lacing her fingers through his as she starts toward the back of the club.

Pacey pulls her back, her body hard against his. "I don't want to date you, Lindley, I want to slide my cock into that wet pussy of yours and make you come until you can't stand."

"So long as the terms are clear." Her voice is weaker, her breath shaky.

"Crystal."

Jen stops and turns around just outside of the bathrooms, looking up at him through dark lashes. "It's not going to help."

"Nothing helps," he grins ferally, "but I bet it's going to feel pretty fucking good."

"Pacey," She stands on tiptoe and pulls him down to her, her tongue slipping quickly in and out of his mouth, "it's going to feel pretty fucking fantastic."

***  
He kicks the door closed behind them, his eyes burning as he closes in on her. She smiles in return, the heat in the room rising as he reaches for her, his hands on her hips, pulling at her skirt. It lifts easily and she's tugging the thin fabric of her panties down, hips swaying with the motion.

The material falls to the floor and he lowers his hands, caressing her thighs as he backs her up against the door of the stall. The black paint is scratched and marred and faded and perfect against her creamy skin as he lifts her, her skirt covering her ass as he slides between her legs, guiding them around his waist.

Jen's eyes narrow, the color unreadable in the golden light from the single bulb hanging precariously over the sink. She grabs his shoulders, helping to support herself as she feels the rough brush of the back of his knuckles as he undoes his belt, his fly. "You're so wet, Lindley. Did I do that to you?"

"CJ's late," she shakes her head as she feels his hand between her legs, closing her eyes at the sensation. "I've been amusing myself for a half hour."

"Amusing yourself, huh?" He slips a finger inside her slick passage, tracing rivulets of arousal with his fingertip. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Her nails rake lightly over the short hairs on the back of his neck. She pulls herself closer to him, smiling slightly as his finger slips in further. "I've been sliding my hand underneath my skirt and playing with myself, Pacey, because there hasn't been a boy around to do it for me. Is that what you want to hear?"

"Maybe." He slides another finger inside her, crooking it slightly and teasing over the sensitive wall of flesh. "Maybe I want to hear you ask me to do it for you."

"Maybe you'd just better put your cock inside me and fuck me before I change my mind." She smiles, biting his lower lip, drawing back with a grin at the coppery taste of blood. "Or I sober up."

"You want my cock?" He drawls the words slowly, his thumb teasing her clit. "Inside you?"

"Yes."

"Buried in that hot pussy of yours?" He whispers the words on her skin, his fingers leaving the warmth of her body, wrapping around his hard shaft.

"Yes."

"Thrusting." He brushes her clit with the tip of his cock before sliding the head down to her opening, fitting it against her welcoming flesh.

"Yes."

"Deep?"

Jen nods, her legs locking together behind his back, her body pulling him closer. She hisses the word between clenched teeth, hunger pooling in her body. "Yes."

"Like this?" He slides into her quickly, smoothly. One thrust and he's surrounded by heat and wet, muscles clenching around his invasion.

"Yes."

Suddenly the words are gone as he closes his eyes, burying his head against her shoulder. He opens them and forces himself to watch the rapid movement of his hips, of their bodies, over the swell of her breast. He lifts an arm and grabs the top of the door, holding it steady behind her, his other hand under her ass, supporting her, his fingers applying soft pressure to her tight sphincter muscle, not penetrating it, but promising, threatening.

Jen's head falls back against the door, her eyes closed, her mouth open around soft gasps of air. She's whispering or moaning, the sound lost in his hair as she buries her fingers in it, her hot breath stirring the dark strands as her muscles constrict around him. He's surrounded by her, her legs, her arms and he feels the first stirrings of claustrophobia, the slight paranoid reaction the pot always gives him and he starts thrusting harder, faster.

Jen catches her breath, her teeth grazing Pacey's earlobe as she groans hungrily. He steps closer, pressing her harder against the stall door, his hand momentum trapping her against the unyielding wood. "Pacey…"

"No," he growls, shaking his head rapidly, fighting for air. His low groan races along her spine and she gasps, the sound pervading his senses as she meets his steady thrusts as her orgasm crashes over them both.

Pacey's body is rigid, every muscle impossibly tight as he eases her to the floor, stepping back until he feels the sink behind him. Jen tilts her head, her eyes hazy, thick with lust. His lips press together, his eyes guarded as he looks at her. She smiles knowingly as she sinks to her knees and, with one easy movement, engulfs his cock in the heat of her mouth.

Pacey leans back, his fingers curling around the cold porcelain as Jen's mouth closes around him, heat alternating with cool, every stroke sliding along this length until heavy shudders rack his body, his orgasm coming on the heels of his heavy groan.

Jen stands up slowly, taking the hand he offers as she gets to her feet. She places her hand over her mouth to hide her smile. Pacey laughs quietly, shaking his head as he captures her wrist, tugging her against him. He runs his thumb over her lower lip lazily. "Your boyfriend's probably waiting."

She shrugs. "Probably."

He leans down, his tongue sliding over hers before he pulls away and buttons his slacks. Sliding his arm around her, he guides her out of the bathroom. She leans into him as they walk, her head resting against his broad chest.

"You know you're going to have to tell me what just happened, don't you?"

"No." He smiles to alleviate the sting from the quick word, failing miserably. Jen shrugs and stops as they reach the main room of the bar.

"This is where I get off."

He smirks sexily. "I beg to differ."

She laughs and pulls away from him, nodding toward the table she'd vacated for him. "CJ's here."

"You think he's going to notice you've been rode hard and put away wet?"

She shrugs, leaving him behind as she starts for the table. CJ turns as she approaches, his gaze skipping over her to Pacey. "Hey."

Pacey gives him a casual wave on his way to the bar. His buzz is gone, the edges no longer blurry, the pain hovering again. "Whiskey."

"Right." The bartender sets a beer in front of him. "Don't push it."

"Whatever." He takes the beer and turns on his stool, watching CJ and Jen. CJ glances back at Pacey, suspicion bright in his eyes. Pacey can't help but smirk as he lifts his beer in salute, watching in amusement as everything coalesces in CJ's mind and he comes off the stool, his long agitated stride bringing him toward Pacey.

Pacey sits his beer on the bar and continues to watch CJ walk across the room, his small grin sliding across his lips hinging on the slowly receding high the joint had given him. As CJ moves within hearing distance, he nods, still smiling. "You lookin' for me?"

CJ swings, missing easily as Pacey slips off the stool and ducks underneath it, standing and letting his forward momentum carry him toward CJ, his own punch making contact. CJ falls to the floor, the descent softened as he stumbles backwards and hits a few innocent bystanders. CJ wipes the small trickle of blood from his nose, glaring up at Pacey. "You fucked my girlfriend."

"First of all, you were late. You have no one to blame but yourself." He fights his grin, wonders if the kids are still outside. "And secondly…actually, there is no secondly. You've got the most beautiful woman in the room waiting for you and you can't get your ass here on time? You deserve whatever you get." He holds out his hand to CJ, smirking as he smacks it away and gets to his feet on his own. "In fact, for making her wait? You deserve a hell of a lot more." Pacey grabs his beer and drains it, stepping around CJ to head to the door. "Which I'd be more than happy to dish out for you."

Jen shakes her head, smiling and shaking her head. "I think he's had enough, Pace."

"You're the boss." He's about to say more when the door opens and he sees her. Sees him. His breath catches in his chest and he freezes, pain lancing through him. He thought he'd almost made himself forget but he hadn't. He'd just been pretending that it didn't matter. Dulled the edges of the pain.

She's still wearing the same dress, that delicate yellow that was so soft and silky against the palm of his hands, that barely disguised the heat burning off her skin. Eddie is behind her, his hand at the base of her spine, fingers splayed widely, possessively. He knows that Jen's watching him, following his gaze and seeing his pain so plainly standing in front of them. "Pace?"

The visions he'd had in the car, the two of them on the bar, all fingers and tongue and fucking and slow, steady strokes that made her scream dissolved into visions of her and him, dark heads bent together, whispers and secrets and futures passing between them. Anger flooded after the pain, filling the empty spaces inside him, including the new one he'd created inside himself the moment he'd slid inside Jen. "I have to go."

"Pace?" Jen flinches as Joey hears her say his name and looks in their direction. Something unreadable flickers in her eyes and she takes a step forward, stopping as her eyes go from Jen to Pacey. There's something alive and wounded inside him, frantic behind the normally serene blue. "Let me walk you home."

"No." He shakes his head and starts walking, his eyes locking on Joey's. "Thanks anyway."

"Pacey…"

"No," he snaps, holding his hand up to Jen. He approaches them, his gaze never faltering. Eddie looks up from Joey finally and notices him, his eyes wary and confused all at once. He removes his hand from Joey's back and holds it out to Pacey.

"Hey. Pacey. Joey mentioned you might be here."

"Yeah? Did she also mention that, up until the second you walked back into the bar, she and I were fucking?"

"She mentioned she was seeing someone while I was gone," he admits. "She mentioned it didn't mean anything though."

"Yeah," Pacey smirks. "She mentioned that to me too."

Eddie finally drops his hand, moving it back to Joey's dress. "Well, if you'll excuse us, we've got some catching up to do."

"Absolutely." Pacey looks at Joey, ignoring her gasp. "I didn't realize how scared you were. I didn't realize how much safety meant to you. I guess I should have, huh? You fucked things up with Dawson so you need someone new you can run to who doesn't force you to live or choose or anything, right? He's your new Dawson?"

"Pacey…"

"Look, Pacey, I know you're probably stinging a little…"

Pacey turns before he even knows he's moving, his fist landing with a satisfying thud directly on Eddie's previously unbroken nose. "No, that stings a little." He focuses on Joey once more. "This is just par for the course. Have a nice life, Jo."

"Pacey!" She kneels next to Eddie even as she says Pacey's name, tears clogging her voice. He almost cares. It almost doesn't hurt.

He can almost lie to himself.


End file.
